The Last Line
by Wormstache101
Summary: Here's a fic I wrote earlier in April, when I got the idea from a Tumblr post where it said, "What do you think the last line ever on Supernatural will be?" and someone said, "Sam Winchester, time for your medication." So... And thus this was born.


"_Dean!_" Sam screamed, voice filled with terror, horror and grief. He watched his brother collapse onto his knees, green eyes wide as they glided down to stare at the hand that was punched through his chest. Dick Roman loomed over him, extracting his bloody hand from Dean's body, swiping it through the air in disgust. He stood straight, frowning down at the frozen Winchester below him, who still stood on his knees.

"How unfortunate," he said distastefully, looking bored. "And I was thinking of letting you two live. Oh well."

Sam's breathing grew fast from his spot where Dick had thrown him, slumped against the wall. "Dean," he breathed, forcing himself to his feet and ignoring the throbbing in his head. Dean's eyes lifted to stare at his younger brother.

"Sammy," he choked out, before doubling over and hacking out blood, the hole in his chest gushing out the warm, thick fluid. Sam rushed forward, and was clutching his dying brother in a heartbeat, trying to pull him close without causing him any more pain.

"Dean, oh god, Dean- Everything'll be okay. Don't worry, I got you," Sam whispered, voice filled with fear and sorrow. He wrapped his arms around his brother, not caring that the blood was getting all over him. He pushed his face into Dean's short, dirty blond hair, only then noticing the tears that were spilling down his cheeks. Sam didn't try to close up the wound. He didn't try to stop the blood from flowing out of the deep hole in his chest. He knew he couldn't do anything but hold his frightened and pale brother.

"Sammy," Dean murmured into Sam's shoulder, where his face was pressed against. The younger hunter trembled, squeezing Dean protectively.

"Shh, Dean- Don't try to talk," he whimpered, feared that if he talked, it would only cause more pain and suffering. But, of course, Dean was stubborn and didn't like listening. He pushed himself back, so that he could look Sam in the eyes, despite the worsening wound across his chest.

"I'm…" Dean paused, shaking as he inhaled a deep breath, even though it was obviously agonizing. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he mumbled, and stared at his brother through tear stained eyes.

Sam held Dean, gazing down at him. He only just realized how terrifyingly pale Dean was; how the blood had left his face, abandoning a ghastly white man, whose cheeks were wet with shedding tears. His lips weren't full and pink anymore; they were slightly blue or purple, and smeared with blood that had been coughed up. Dean's usually bright and grassy green eyes weren't their original color, either; they were a very dull and faint green, now, and Sam hated it. He didn't want to watch his brother die, _again_. He didn't want to go through this, _again_. Sam watched as his brother gave a frail smile.

"I w-wish Cas were here," he whispered, his weak voice barely audible. Sam whimpered through his tears, remembering what had to be the angel's 6th and final death, about a year ago, and was obviously never returning. Sam nodded, tightening his grip on the trembling Dean.

"I wish he was here, too, Dean," he said quietly, smiling sadly at the dying hunter. The eldest Winchester gave a short cough, causing more dabs of blood to splutter at his lips, and the tears seemed to flow harder, now. Dean's lips quivered as his smile grew wider, but his eyes remaining anguished.

"M-maybe I'll see h-him?" he murmured, looking suddenly happy and peaceful through the blood and ghostly look. Sam felt his heart squeeze, and he could no longer see through his blurry eyes. He gave heart-wrenched nods, and felt himself let out woeful whimpers.

"Maybe you will, Dean," he choked out around the hard lump in his throat. He blinked quickly, until he could finally see his brother's clear and vivid smile. "Don't worry- I'll find a way to bring you back. I promise," Sam said, proud that his voice didn't waver. Dean's expression grew soft, and he shook his head, even though he clearly winced at the pain.

"No, Sammy, no. Not this time," Dean said softly, shutting his eyes and leaning forward, his face pushing into Sam's shoulder. Sam trembled, hugging his brother.

"Why not? You've come back all the other times, Dean- with the Mystery Spot, and going to Hell, and all the others. Why not this time?" Sam waited, cheek brushing against Dean's soft hair, but the hunter didn't reply. Sam's heart rate quickened. "Dean?" he said, breathing hard. "Dean? _Dean!_" He pushed Dean's limp body at arm's length, only to find his brother unmoving, and not breathing. Sam fought back cries of remorse and anguish as he stared at Dean's lifeless self, the blood still slowly oozing out of the wound in his chest.

"…So, are we done here?" Dick's voice snapped Sam back to the real world. The head leviathan was leaning against the wall, a few feet away from Sam and his dead brother, looking completely and utterly bored. Sam's lips curled in a snarl, and he jumped up, anger and rage filling him.

"You killed him!" he screeched, about to lunge himself forward onto this bastard. Dick held up a hand, smirking.

"Yes, I did- But I wasn't going to. You guys just still haven't clung onto the fact that we cured cancer." He snorted, shaking his head in distaste. "You still think we're up to no good. So, while I was sitting here, in my office, minding my own business, you two yahoos showed up and intended on… What was it? _'Killing'_ me?" He laughed, shaking his head again. "Obviously that turned out to be a bad plan. And then poor little ol' Dean tried sneaking up on me. Looks like you two aren't the best at good ideas, are you?" He paused, and then smirked. "I mean, _'were'_ you?"

Sam let out a furious shriek, plunging himself forward, a knife suddenly in his hand. Dick rolled his eyes, sliding out of the way, causing Sam to stab straight into the wall. Instead of whipping around and raging towards the leviathan, Sam just let out a whimper and slumped onto his knees, hanging his head. Dick quirked an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Sam lifted his head, his grief-stricken hazel eyes boring into the head leviathan, and swelled with tears.

"Please," he whispered. "Just kill me, too."

Dick stood there, blinking. He suddenly smirked, and crossed his arms over his chest, sighing. "Oh, Sam Winchester, you poor, pathetic thing." He leaned against his desk, his pale, brown eyes twinkling. "I'm not going to kill you. Want to know why?" When Sam just stared at him, looking helpless and quite lost, Dick chuckled. "Because that's the best punishment I can think of. Having you live on without your brother. Torture. So, have a nice day!" He stood, turning and exiting the office, leaving Sam collapsed on his knees, and a dead Dean Winchester crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Sam sat on the barstool, an empty shot glass clutched in his hand. He stared at the counter, his eyes red and puffy from hours of just _crying_. He didn't realize how much crap he had gone through until Dean's death. And he was _not_ taking it very well. He could practically still smell Dean's blood on him, and it was suffocating. Sam didn't try to go out hunting for Dick, or killing any monsters. He had already gone through that in Mystery Spot, when Dean had died on that one Wednesday, when everything was supposed to go back to normal. He had hunted for that damned trickster for months, blocking out the world from any sort of help or human being. But not this time. Sam's done with that. He just wants to mourn, now. Though, it's been an entire month of searching, of pleading, of praying to anyone who would listen to bring his brother back.

No one would listen.

So, there he sat, in this one bar he didn't care to learn the name of, drinking his life away, because- let's face it - that's all he can really do. Drink like there's no tomorrow. And there might as well not be. His big brother's dead. Everyone he's ever loved is dead, so what's the point? Kill himself? He's too much of a coward to do it. So, instead, just drink and wait for Death to approach him himself.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" a gentle voice asked quietly from in front of Sam.

The defeated hunter lifted his head slowly up from the counter, to stare at a young brunette who blinked at him. He shook his head, feeling lifeless inside as he just stared blankly at her. He knew he was drunk; he could feel the way his body rarely responded to anything he ordered it to do, but he didn't really care. That's what he was trying to accomplish: _Drink like there's no tomorrow._ The girl gave Sam a sympathetic look, and rested her elbows on the counter, leaning on it.

"Sometimes it helps if you tell someone about it?" she offered, giving a sweet smile. "And I'm told I'm a good listener."

Sam sat there, hand still clutching the small, glass cup in his hand. He felt his eyes gather tears once more, and he let out a frail whimper. He shook his head, lowering his gaze. The girl reached out, gently placing her warm hand on his.

"Hey, it's okay. It can't be that bad, right? If it's a sort of relationship kind of thing, I've heard a billion of 'em."

Sam finally lifted his eyes, grief reflecting in them. "Everyone I've loved has died," he choked out. "My brother, my mom, my dad, my practically an uncle, my girlfriend, _everyone._"

The bartender stared at him, eyes wide, for several moments. She obviously hadn't been expecting that. She bit her lower lip, trying to think of something comforting to say. But, before she could, Sam continued on his drunken rambling.

"That stupid Cas died for Dean- _Again._" He shook his head. "How many times was that? Six? Ugh, and he always came back- But this time… He hasn't. And my brother, Dean, died in my arms, you know?" Tears spilled down his cheeks. "And it's all my fault that everyone's dead. It's all my fault, 'cause I started that stupid Apocolypse by setting Lucifer free. Oh, and that sonovabitch Gabriel died for me, too. Well, me and Dean. And Kali. But it was still me." He shook his head, pulling the shot glass to his lips, and then realized it was empty. He glanced up at the girl, who was staring, open mouthed, at him. "Can I get another fill?" he asked. The bartender blinked several times before stumbling back.

"I, uh, s-sure, just wait here…" She turned and left into the kitchen, not intending on getting him anymore alcohol, but a quick phone call to the local county hospital for the mentally disabled. Sam sat back in his stool, staring down at his small cup, expression lacking any sort of emotion(other than the tears he didn't feel like wiping from his cheeks). The girl returned, giving a weak smile. He frowned at her.

"Where's my refill?" he slurred, irritated. She paused.

"It'll, uh- it'll be here soon, sir."

He gave a jerk of a nod, pleased. Not a second later, Sam suddenly felt very dizzy. Must be all of the alcohol he's consumed in over a little of a week. His vision grew blurry, and then everything vanished as he collapsed into unconsciousness.

Sam regained consciousness, but didn't open his eyes. His head was throbbing, and his heart felt squeezed out. He could feel he was lying down on a soft bed, his head resting against an even soft pillow, but he couldn't figure out where he might be. Finally, he dared to open his eyes, but had to squint at the pale blue ceiling for several moments before the blurriness went away. His hazel eyes flicked across the room, and his brows furrowed in confusion.

The room he was in was small, and very blue. The walls, the ceiling, and the flooring- all blue. It made Sam's head pound even harder by staring at all of the _blue_, so he quickly shut his eyes against the intense color.

'_Where am I?_' he thought slowly, his body still not wanting to do what it was told. He wanted to get up and move around, and try to escape from this confining room. Suddenly, he heard a faint _chink_ noise, and his eyes flew open, panic spreading through him. The door to his left pushed open and a woman in a white outfit appeared, carrying a small tray. Sam lay there, frozen because his body wouldn't move. She smiled kindly at him.

"Sam Winchester? Time for your medication."


End file.
